


Dust to Dust

by LopezAnnaC



Series: Doctor Who: Reimagined [1]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Family, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2013-08-08
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:00:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LopezAnnaC/pseuds/LopezAnnaC
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Clara Oswald did more than rescue the Doctor from the Great Intelligence? What if she rewrote his story instead?</p><p>A reimagining of "The Angels Take Manhattan."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dust to Dust

**Author's Note:**

> By ACL
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own this show nor these characters.
> 
> Warnings: Spoilers for _Doctor Who_ , "The Name of the Doctor."

_I don’t know where I am. I don’t know where I’m going or where I’ve been. I was born to save the Doctor, but the Doctor is safe now. I’m the Impossible Girl, and my story is done._

Ice settles over her shoulders and chest. The fire of the void, as brilliant and all-consuming as the man himself, cools rapidly around what remains of her body.

 _I suppose I’m dying then_. The thought does not bother Clara as much as she’d imagined. After all, she has done what she’s set out to do – she has saved her Doctor. Nothing more is needed.

The chill creeps down her spine and into her hips. Really, dying isn’t all bad. She’s done it hundreds of times. If it wasn’t for that nagging feeling at the back of her throat, she might even relish the sensation.

But there, again, that swell of profound sorrow. Clara glances down to where her fingers twine between a slip of the Doctor’s time stream, nearly red with grief.

_Pond. Amelia Pond._

She isn’t certain how she knows, just that she does. This is the Doctor’s Great Anguish, the one loss in all his thousand years that has singularly benefited no one. She pinches a thread of his pain between her thumb and examines it closer.

 _Where’s the harm in once more?_ she smirks, allowing the strand to thicken into a rope, winding round and round her limbs, until…

Clara is on a hill. No, that isn’t right – she is in a cemetery. New York, she reckons, or there about. The Doctor – her Doctor – halts below, embracing a bemused man and woman with a shock of ginger hair, “I could have lost you both. Don’t ever do that again.”

She ducks behind a gravestone, voices drifting up, “What did we do? We fixed it. We solved the problem.”

“I was talking to myself.”

Clara continues to crouch, watching. Professor Song and the Doctor are arguing now, relief smoothing years off that ancient, alien face. She hardly recognizes him, determination hardening against the encroaching panic of what she is about to do.

Really, she senses the Angel before she sees it; a scan across the rows of monuments reveal the remaining scavenger, even now jockeying for position.

“Right. Family outing, then.”

They disappear into the TARDIS, only Rory (Nina) lingering behind.

“Amy, come and see this.”

Clara braces herself for what’s coming. She’s breaking all the rules, she knows that, but then again, going by the book has never really been her forte.

“There’s a gravestone here for someone with the same name as me.”

Her legs feel numb as she sprints down the grass. “Oi, Nose! Get out of the way!” she cries once, shoving him down as a stone hand closes around her neck.

* * *

“Doctor!”

Her tone brings them running.

“Where the hell did that come from?!”

“It’s a survivor. Very weak, but keep your eyes on it.”

Rory is crumpled below the Angel, Amy’s trembling arms raised between them as if to shield the man she loves.

“Amy, what are you doing?!”

“Where’s the girl? The one who pushed me?” Rory’s dazed, blinking at the scene in apparent confusion.

“Both of you, back away from the Angel. Come back to the TARDIS.” No sooner are the words out of the Doctor’s mouth that there is a flash of light, the headstone disintegrating into powder while fissures like spider webs spread across the statue’s wings.

“Amy!”

With a roar reminiscent of an earthquake the Angel explodes, chunks of rock tearing through the air, embedding into the sides of the blue police box. The Doctor bolts towards the Ponds, River following at a more cautious pace.

Amy raises her head tentatively; her body is thrown over her husband’s, though miraculously they both seem unharmed. The Doctor scoops them up, half-carrying and half-dragging the pair back through the doors of the TARDIS, “That’s it, we’re leaving. This city is simply too dangerous.”

“More dangerous than the Dalek Asylum?” Her laughter is choked by dust.

He pauses, spinning Amy around and holding her face just inches from his own, “Now what made you think of that?” She sputters and he drops his hands, towing them the last few feet while River holsters her gun.

“It was a paradox. A big one.”

“Yes, thank you, River. But how?”

“There was a girl,” Rory starts again, rubbing his shoulder absentmindedly. “A girl who just appeared out of nowhere. If she hadn’t pushed me…” He closes his eyes and shivers slightly, Amy pulling him more firmly against her.

The Doctor pauses in front of the console, hovering indecisively above the panel. “An Impossible Girl,” he mutters. “Where have I heard that before?”

“Did the Angel touch her?” River questions, tension evident in the quick glances darting towards the Doctor.

“Yeah, I mean, I think so. She disappeared.”

“Then our Impossible Girl must be in the past somewhere. And our key to solving this -” he gestures violently.

“But not for long,” River interjects.

“No, not for long. I’d say no more than, what?” The Doctor takes a chunk of the rock from his pocket, sniffs it, then licks it for good measure, “Oh, twelve hours?” River nods agreement.

“Then what, Doctor?” Amy struggles to her feet, “What happens after twelve hours?”

He does not answer.

* * *

Jenny Flint curses under her breath; why does she always, _always_ leave the Christmas shopping for the last minute? A grin tugs unbidden on her lips – if she knows her wife, her own gifts were carefully chosen months ago and are likely nestled underneath the tree. Irritating git.

A groan from the direction of the alleyway breaks her rumination; a small, neat figure, already lightly dusted with snow, stirs on the ground nearby. Jenny checks the dagger strapped to her thigh before kneeling over the shape.

It’s a girl, entirely inappropriately dressed for the weather – or time period, for that matter – unconscious. Jenny is glancing around for the nearest copper when the girl gasps, her sudden grip bruising, “The Doctor. Can’t follow. Rewritten. Everything is…” But just as abruptly, her eyes roll back, limp.

Jenny’s brows rise; she doesn’t need to ask which “doctor” the girl was referring to. Grimly, she hauls the deadweight up and flags a cabbie. And here she thought they’d be having a quiet Christmas this year.

* * *

Amy is about to protest when the TARDIS phone rings. The Doctor all but pounces while River automatically assumes the controls.

“Yes, hello? What do you want?” His scowl splits into a chuckle, “Ah! Madame Vastra – I take it you stumbled upon my little mystery then?” Amy and Rory exchange a look. “Yes, of course. We’re on our way.”

River sighs resignedly, pulling a lever, “This is a very bad idea.”

* * *

Really, dying isn’t all bad. She’s done it hundreds of times.

But there, again, that swell of profound sorrow – her own this time. Tears roll down her cheeks unheeded, her cells undoing themselves, one by one.

* * *

He knows he’s seen her before, the form lying so unassuming and still. He cradles her cheek while assaulting his mind for answers.

“I don’t understand,” Amy shifts helplessly. “Is she… dying? Why?”

“No, not dying.” The Doctor’s voice is strangely gruff, “Unmaking. Whatever she accomplished, she erased her own timeline in the process. She no longer exists.”

Clara’s eyelash flutters, and the Doctor’s gaze narrows.

“Doctor…”

“Yes, I’m here,” he murmurs, stroking her hair.

“You… shouldn’t have come.”

“You shouldn’t have gone,” he retorts gently.

“Clever boy,” she chuckles weakly. “Your Ponds… they’re safe?”

“Yes, and thank you.” Rory’s clasp around Amy’s waist tightens, “You saved me. Saved us.”

“Dreadful habit,” her smile slips, a golden glow building underneath her skin dissipating into sparks. They swirl, images streaming through: An ordinary girl from the 21st century, uploaded into a computer, singing lullabies to a star, running from ghosts, and jumping across chasms. The Doctor sees himself, broken by grief, strengthened by hope, and revived by affection. A companion from days he never had, sacrificing herself to protect him from his enemies, her martyrdom cancelling out their own.

“If the Ponds don’t die, we never meet,” the Doctor breathes, lights fading away to nothing.

“I’m always here,” she’s barely more than a whisper. “I remain. I protect.”

“But Clara, the real Clara, will be what? Dead? Gone? Never to have been.”

“I remain. I protect.” The promise echoes throughout the room until the very last glimmer goes out. River takes a hesitant step forward, “My love?”

“The same woman. Dying, hundreds of times, over and over.” His back is to them, clutching the pillow left behind.

Amy joins alongside, “Doctor?”

“It’s my fault. I didn’t save her. I didn’t _know_ her.”

They swallow, starting when he wheels around abruptly.

“You lot, stay here. Stay right here. Don’t move an inch.”

“But where are you going?” River protests, exasperated.

The answer is muffled but discernable over the whoosh of the TARDIS.

“1981!”

* * *

The breeze is brisk for this time of year, but the young man doesn’t notice. He certainly doesn’t notice the stranger in the bowtie releasing the dead leaf, the same leaf that flies into his face. Instead, he staggers back in surprise, straight into the path of an oncoming car. A girl pulls him to safety.

“Oh my stars! Are you alright?”

Behind the pages of a magazine, the Doctor beams.


End file.
